School Me In The Ways Of Love
by SecretGeneration
Summary: Rachel is a no nonsense music teacher, who has only just begun to teach at McKinley High. But she soon uncovers something that could see her become Quinn Fabray's confidant, friend, mentor, and... maybe something more?
1. Chapter 1

The small scrunched up paper projectile bounced off the back of Rachel's head, meeting the classroom floor to the tune of hushed sniggers seconds later. She stayed facing the whiteboard, still for the smallest of moments, before continuing to make languid loops of the marker in her hand, until the lesson objective was scrawled across it in beautiful cursive.

"I would suggest that whoever threw the paper ball reveal themselves before the lunch bell. Otherwise it's going to be a very short lunch for the _entire _class."

Rachel span around to face her students, chin held high like the moment that precedes a checkmate. She began to tap the sole of her Penny Loafer to the shiny floor, even lifting a nail to inspect. "I've got all day," she told the adolescent poker faces before her, as though it was an afterthought to whatever was so interesting about her cuticles.

Jacob Ben Israel fidgeted at his desk, his eyes fighting to stay away from the perpetrator, as the culprit's glare bruised the side of his face.

"Something to say, Jacob?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow without looking away from her nails. The boy squirmed upon hearing his name.

"No. But I do."

Rachel looked up, hand returning to her side. Her severe brown eyes regarded the owner of the suave, almost bored, voice. "And what is it that you would like to contribute, Miss Fabray?"

The slight accusation in Miss Berry's tone piqued Quinn's nostrils, causing them to flare. She rolled her eyes, before inclining her head towards Kitty Wilde. "She did it."

Kitty's jaw dropped, like you'd expect of an innocent. "Me?" she snarled at her Cheerio's Captain. "The ball came from behind -"

"Just admit it, Wilde, because if you think I'm spending lunch cooped up in this classroom with all of these losers, you're delusional. I need to see Puck, and I'm not rescheduling because you wanna play games with the new teacher!"

Kitty gripped the pencil in her hand so hard that her knuckles blanched. "But it _wasn't _me!" she bit out, her voice hard, gruff, and unyielding.

"It was," Jacob murmured. He kept his gaze low whilst Kitty treated him to a glare just as hot as the one that he'd received from the true culprit, moments ago.

In light of the afro-haired boy's helpful little contribution, Quinn looked to Miss Berry, eyebrow arched dryly.

The young Cheerio's Captain was challenging her, Rachel gleaned, and in a manner that was self-satisfying, smug, and really quite disrespectful. She narrowed her gaze into the cheerleader's eyes, refusing to look away from the brilliant champagne hue that defined Quinn's irises. Not even as she said, "this is your last chance, Kitty. Did you throw the paper ball?"

"You needs to 'fess up, Wilde!" Santana cut in, expelling a huffy, over it, sigh. "We _all _saw you do it. Now say sorry for almost getting my lunch hour taken away."

Kitty glanced around, silently imploring her peers to testify for her innocence. But everybody either averted their eyes, bowed their heads, or nodded in testament of her 'guilt,' under the weight of the peer pressure that both Quinn and Santana were exerting upon the room.

"Confess, or you're gonna have suicides coming out of your ass by the time I'm done with you," Quinn quietly growled out of the side of her mouth.

Behind her, Santana stretched, kicked back in her seat, and smirked.

That was when Kitty knew that she was done - that she was taking the fall for this, whether she wanted to or not. Whether she was guilty or not. After all, she was still just a lowly cheerleader, who'd pledged that she'd do whatever her captain said in order to work her way up from the bottom of the pyramid. "Yes, I threw it," she said, feeling the words burn her tongue, but holding her head high anyway. "I apologize."

Rachel allowed a suspicious gaze to bounce between all three girls for a moment. Then she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. Kitty, for such juvenile antics, you'll lose forty-five minutes of your lunch hour. Everyone else is free to leave once the bell sounds. Now, let's get on with the remainder of this lesson!"

As Miss Berry turned to retrieve the red marker pen for the whiteboard, Quinn committed everything about the new teacher's butt to memory. The way that it sat, pert, full, and firm beneath its skirt. Then she blinked, turned her textbook to page thirty, and willed the way that she wished to touch Miss Berry away.

After all, her plate was already full, without adding to it her budding attraction to the neat little woman.

* * *

"How's your second week here going?"

Rachel startled at the sudden company, the textbooks slipping from her grasp and clambering against the wood, as she narrowly avoided hitting her head on the shelf inside of the cupboard that she was peering into. She took a step back, drawing herself out of the cupboard, to find William McKinley High's Guidance Counselor leaning against the filing cabinet on the other side of the pokey office.

He winked at her. "You're lucky I wasn't a student. You're just petite enough that some delinquent could've shoved you inside."

Ignoring his comment, Rachel inspected his shoes - sensible men's footwear that were perfect for the kind of position that he held. Shoes that she easily should have heard clack into the room, but hadn't. In that moment, she decided that she was going to have to keep her wits about her whenever Mr Puckerman was around.

"In future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't startle me, Mr Puckerman. But other than that, my second week is going rather well."

"Nah, you see..." Noah screwed his face up, steepling his fingers as he took steps toward his newest colleague. He shook his head. "That's not gonna work. Mr Puckerman makes me feel old. Even the students call me Puck. Faculty members call me Noah. You should too. Especially you, actually." The handsome counselor - Rachel could begrudgingly admit - then grinned, bringing up a charming dimple in each of his thinly-stubbled tan cheeks. "How'd you feel if I asked you to come over to my place this Saturday night?" He shrugged the proposition off as casual. "Few glasses of wine... or beer, if you're into beer."

Rachel smoothed down the front of her skirt, because the man before her was making her feel like it was wise to. She shook her head staunchly. "No, _Mr Puckerman_, I'm not a fan of beer. Also, I don't date my colleagues, so I'm going to have to refuse your offer."

A little too quickly, and with a smile that was a little too friendly following such rejection, Noah thrust his hands up as if to demonstrate that he was backing off. "No one said anything about _dating_. But it's not a problem, Rach. I'll be around if you need anything." He gestured towards the open cupboard. "Don't let any of the students lock you inside," he jested, winking on his way out of the room, only to collide with someone.

Rachel listened to him issue whoever he'd fallen into a quick apology. She craned her neck a little, until her sight met with a sour-faced Quinn Fabray, who did not look like she was about to apologize for her part in the collision any time soon.

Something conspiratorial passed between the muscular counselor and the Cheerio's Captain. Then Quinn's gaze flickered to Rachel, lingering a few seconds, before returning to Noah.

"I've been looking for you! We need to talk!" she told him, and with all the couth of a mother snatching her crying child's arm, and dragging them out of a toy store.

"S-Sure." Noah nodded, glancing between the stern teenager, and his colleague. "But you know you're not allowed in faculty areas. If you had something you wanted to talk to me about, you should've waited in my office, Quinn," he said, on the verge of scolding.

But not quite, which caused the space between Rachel's eyebrows to pinch.

In her last place of work, an affluent private school that was situated in New York, the guidance counselors had not so easy to get around.

Frown still intact, she turned and began to collect up the textbooks that had bumbled to the cupboard floor, placing them in their rightful place whilst attempting to listen in on Quinn's hushed words. But before her ears could grow accustomed to deciphering the stabbing whisper, both Noah and Quinn absconded, closing the door in behind them.

Now alone, Rachel stared at it for a long while, everything inside of her knowing that she had just witnessed something to be suspicious of.

It wasn't too much of a stretch for her mind to take her where it was so obviously intent on leading her. Of all the students at McKinley High, Quinn Fabray stood at the pinnacle of the beauty mountain. With her seamless golden ponytail, mysterious hazel eyes, perfect upturned nose, bowstring pink lips, astute smarts, and endless planes of delicate alabaster skin - which was always on show in some capacity - Rachel did not think that it was at all unfair to assume that male staff members had perhaps allowed themselves a few lingering looks in her direction. There was also a knife-edge sort of coldness to her, a superiority. Yet an unmistakable something swam just beneath the surface, like a soft light washing a dark room in a delicate glow.

Quinn Fabray was unjustifiably beautiful, and emitted a certain melancholy. A certain vulnerability. Noah was her guidance counselor - the same guy who Rachel had watched make passes at several female faculty members, including herself, in the short time that she'd been employed at McKinley High. He almost reminded her of the sort of guy who'd drop his cell phone, just so that he could peer up young girl's skirts.

His rapport with the young blonde seemed more than a little strange. Could it be that he was using his position to take advantage of her?

Rachel had seen many things in her twenty-five years, and it would not have come as a shock to her if the answer to that question turned out to be yes.

After retrieving the textbook that she'd been looking for, she gently closed the cupboard door, and set about a journey to the library to use one of the computers; surely, somewhere in cyberspace, there was information on Noah Puckerman's past puttering about.

* * *

Noah flashed Mrs Baker a friendly smile as she walked by, before retreating into his office and pushing door in, hard. His smile instantly dropped - not a trace of it remaining - as he whipped around to round on Quinn. "Man, what the hell was that back there?" he whispered, quick and harsh. "Rachel was suspicious as all hell!"

So Rachel was Miss Berry's name, Quinn found herself thinking. But it was fleeting. She glared up at the older man. "You said you'd be here!" she hissed back. "But, no, instead you were trying to get the fresh meat to sleep with you! Fuck!" she grunted, clutching her forehead in frustration as she huffed at the ceiling. "This is such a God damned mess!"

"You don't gotta tell me that!" Noah snapped, dropping down into his office chair, like a sack of potatoes. He passed his palm over his face. "Look, Quinn, it was good while it lasted. But I'm calling this -"

"I skipped a period. I'm - I think I'm pregnant."

The broken utterance smacked Noah's hand away from his face, where it fell to his lap, limp.

"What?"

"You - God dammit - you heard what I said, asshole!" Quinn exclaimed, eyes wide and vibrating with a terror more potent than all of her childhood monsters combined could evoke.

Noah slowly stood up, shaking his head as if trying to wade through the time-stopping fog of shock that had befallen the room. He began to pace the light and airy office, images of how he'd defiled the seventeen year old girl in various corners of it crashing his psyche.

Then he halted, expelling a shuddery breath as he repeatedly touched his fingertips together in what seemed to be a nervous tick. "Whose baby is it?" he accused.

Quinn dipped her head forward slightly, and narrowed vicious eyes at him. "Fuck you," she said, eerily calm.

"You think I don't see how all the boys look at you? What's to say you haven't been sleeping with any of them?" Noah growled, looking her up and down with eyes that were filled with disgust. Eyes that were pitched to a frequency that would shame and demean whatever focused upon. "I heard the rumor about you and Finn Hudson! What's to say he's not this kid's dad?"

Whirlwind fast, Quinn's palm shot out and cracked against his cheek, ringing out in the room like snapped bones. In any other situation, he would have restrained her, escorted her to Principle Figgins' office, and gotten her expelled for the violent breech. But all formal respect for one another's personal space had fallen to the wayside the moment that he'd penetrated her for the first time, some three months back.

Tears shimmered in Quinn's eyes, her shoulders trembling. "I have half a mind to tell my father about us - about how you _abused _your position to get me to sleep with you! Because that's what happened, isn't it? You telling me you loved me, leaving roses in my locker - it was all _bullshit _to get me to keep my mouth shut! You'd never work again. My father would make sure of it!" she spat, jaw barely moving for how stern it was wound, her eyes unwavering in their hate. "That you'd _never _work or have a normal life _again_!"

The threat had been spoken scratchily, with a tight throat that was laden with bitter unshed tears.

Noah sighed, watching everything that Quinn had ever thought him to be crumble, in favor of the truth, which was that he'd used and manipulated her into spreading her legs for him when she'd gone to him with concerns about her sexuality.

And now she was threatening to go to her dad.

Panic flared in his stomach, hot and acidic. It told him to act, to do something to stop the bleeding! Anything! "Well if you tell him, you're gonna have to tell him why you came to me in the first place - that you swing both ways, and have a preference for girls! He'll kick you out, disown you, and you'll have nothing but your Cheerio's uniform! Then what?"

Noah knew that was a low blow, especially when Quinn had confided in him about the plights of living in the Fabray household. He hated himself in that moment. But everything hung in the balance. His job, his reputation. Quinn was backing him into a corner, and he'd always been taught to come out swinging whenever his back was against the wall.

A resentful chuckle left Quinn's lips, because how could she have ever allowed herself to be duped by such a no-good bastard? Well, she knew how. She couldn't say that she didn't. Puck had always just been the school's cool guidance counselor, who the students could go and talk to about anything. He used all the slang, wasn't afraid to make fun of himself, drove an attractive sports car, and was a luxury on the senses, especially the eyes and nose. Quinn had genuinely thought that he'd been on her side, and when he'd offered to pop her cherry, so that she could see whether or not she was, in fact, gay, she'd thought that it was for her - that they were about to break all of the rules to help _her _out. That's how Puck had made it seem. That was how good he was at taking what he wanted.

And now he was threatening to out her to her parents.

She couldn't believe that she'd been so naive, and for all of the adult things that she was capable of, Quinn had never felt like a silly schoolgirl more than she did in that moment.

"I don't even know if I _am_ pregnant, cocksucker! But know that you're gonna get what's coming to you! Even if it's the last thing that I do, you're gonna get what you deserve!" she hissed, baring teeth. "That's a promise!" Her moist eyelashes flickered as she snatched her backpack up from where she'd dumped it amongst the files on Puck's desk, and without another word, she bounded out of the office, leaving Noah in need of much guidance himself.

* * *

In the serene quiet of the library, sat in front of the computer that was closest to the exit, Rachel could not believe what she was reading…

**Case Dropped Against New Haven Teacher**

**20.05.2010**

_Following seventeen year old Andrea Barkley's allegations against her thirty year old school counselor, Noah Puckerman, it seemed as though the former Jeff Harper High employee was headed for a long and drawn out lawsuit, facing charges such as carnal knowledge of a juvenile, indecent behavior, and contributing to the delinquency of a juvenile._

_But today, all allegations were rescinded. When asked to comment, Barkley refused._

_Puckerman claims that when he spurned young Barkley's advances, during a counselling session, she fabricated the allegation that he coerced her into performing sexual acts upon him, in a bid for revenge. Now vindicated, the thirty year old counselor says that he hopes the false allegations will not impact upon any future job opportunities._

* * *

Any thoughts? Drop them in a review :)


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't like Quinn was heartbroken over the sour demise of whatever you'd call what she'd had with Puck. She'd never been in love with him - never gotten that alive-all-over sensation whenever he was near. Not like when she was in the presence of girls that she was drawn to.

He'd been there for her when she'd crumbled in his office and confessed that she thought she was into girls, but was confused about it. He'd cracked his gentle grin, coaxed a watery smile out of her with a few well-placed self-deprecating jokes, and ran a soothing hand up and down her hiccuping back whilst she sipped from the water that he'd fetched her. He'd been nice to her, even after learning about the part of her that even _she _was disgusted by, which was his job, Quinn guessed. But knowing that hadn't made her feel any less cared for.

From there, the charismatic counselor had gradually begun to reveal personal things about himself, during their sessions - throwaway comments about what he was planning to grab for dinner, the perils of being an adult and having to meet due car payments. Names and descriptions of relatives and friends - comical stories about them. About himself.

One time, specifically, he'd blown Quinn's mind with an account about his own high school years, and the confusion that he'd experienced when a male friend of his had leaned in and coaxingly brushed his lips against the corner of his mouth. With a charismatic mock-scandalized chuckle, he'd wrapped up the tale just as quickly as it had come up, telling her that it'd only taken one sexual encounter with a girl for him to know that he was definitely one-hundred percent straight - panic and confusion over!

They'd left it at that, that day, with Quinn none the wiser as to the intent of the seed that'd just been planted within her...

With each session, they'd carried on in that light and airy office, as though Quinn's world wasn't one of inner turmoil. As though the sun could come out. Puck had a way of making Quinn feel like they were sharing things about one another that only the other was worthy of knowing, which was how she came to feel safe enough to divulge the details of her overly religious home life, amongst other things, like the notion that if somebody didn't talk to Sue Sylvester about her homicidal regime soon, then a handful - if not all - of the Cheerios were going to end up in hospital.

The following Cheerio's practice Coach Sylvester had miraculously been a lot less demanding, and that was when Quinn knew that Puck was, rather sweetly, one-hundred percent committed to assisting her in any way that he could.

The day that their relationship changed, it had done so after he'd handed her an information booklet about a nearby lgbt teenage support group, which she'd instantly balked at.

Puck had always been quite tactile with her, even from that very first session. So when he reached out, tucked a generous collection of golden strands behind her pale ear, and ran his dwarfing hand from her shoulder to her wrist, all whilst assuring her that nobody was going to force her to attend the support group if she didn't want to go, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.

Nor had anything seemed out of the ordinary when he'd cradled her to his chest, and told her that he wished he could quell the conflict and confusion that she was experiencing within.

Then, with one cryptic, seemingly throwaway utterance, the seed that had been planted began to rumble in its roots...

_"What if..? Nah. It's stupid."_

_Quinn felt the older man shake his head in quick dismissal of his aborted suggestion. _

_She blinked against the crisp cotton of his form-fitting dress shirt, and slowly leaned out of his embrace, regarding him with eyes that were as deep as her willingness to absorb his wisdom. "No, say it - whatever you were gonna say. Say it."_

_Puck scrunched his nose up, flexing his strong jaw from side to side, before waving the eager blonde off. "Nah. It'd be unprofessional __and __irresponsible for me to even suggest it. It's stupid. Besides, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. That wouldn't be cool," he said, waving her off for the second time. "Let's move on - how was Cheerio's practice yesterday? Are you still having a difficult time -"_

_"Say what you were going to say, Puck," Quinn interrupted, deadpanning, because she could be short with him. They were friends, and friends were short with one another sometimes. _

_Puck ummed and aahed, grimacing as though the parameters of his comfort zone were being stretched to the point of mild pain. But he said not a word._

_"You're not gonna make me uncomfortable. Tell me," Quinn assured him, wielding eyes that were softer - if not still a little exasperated - than they were moments ago._

_"Just..." Puck sighed his lips still. He scratched the back of his neck, and then clasped his hands in his lap, like that was the wisest place for them. "Have you ever... been with a boy before?"_

_Quinn's brow pinched, her eyes darting around without aim as her lips ran soundlessly._

_"You know, to get a feel for whether or not you like it?" Puck quickly added. "I mean, I ain't saying that your attraction towards girls is wrong. I just wanna help you work past your confusion, so you can figure out who you are, and work to accept that reality, whatever it may be."_

_Those words, so encouraging - they were all the lubrication that Quinn's truth needed. "No," she answered. "I..." She shook her head quickly. "No." _

_"Okay." Puck nodded, somewhat akin to a police officer who'd taken to capturing a witnesses' account between the lines of a notepad. "I only ask 'cause when I was confused in high school, I found Georgie. After my experiences with her, I knew I wasn't bisexual - that I was straight. I don't know..." he tapered off, knowing that the Cheerio's Captain was as smart as she was gorgeous, and that she'd figure it out on her own._

_That was how this worked; they always had to come to it on their own. _

_"I have admirers. But they're all assholes," Quinn complained, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't wanna try anything with any of them, honestly."_

_"Well, I know from personal experience, it's got to be someone you trust," Puck said, surely nudging her along with an invisible ghost-like hand. "In your case, specifically, you'd need someone who'd understand if you didn't want things to go further. Someone who you're already genuinely fond of, you know, to see if you're capable of maybe transforming that fondness into something more. Someone who'd support you, no matter what. You don't know any boys like that?"_

_Taking much care to leave that question marinating over the teenager, Puck sat silent, peering at her until her clear gaze floated up to his. They sat like that for eight seconds or so, surrounded by the quiet power of suggestion._

_"You're the only guy I know like that, actually," Quinn confessed after a beat. She released a chuckle at the absurdity of the implication. One that quickly faltered in rhythm, like a discordant piano note struck heavily. _

_With every inch of silence that stretched on, without a word from her counselor, she began to wonder... _

_Her sight fell to his lips with hesitant curiosity._

_And that was when Puck decided to speak. "Look, you're a beautiful girl, with a great personality, and I'd love to help you out, Quinn. Really. But my job, and -"_

_It was so clumsy, the way that she rushed the scant distance between their bodies, and pressed her lips to his, before slowly easing out of the ambush, and bowing her head a little. She ran her tongue out over her lips, slow and curious, feeling around inside of herself for that ever elusive something._

_"Quinn -"_

_"I-I'm sorry," she quietly gasped in the small space that separated them, cheeks ablaze. "I just - I needed - I couldn't -"_

_Puck shushed her softly. "It's okay. I understand," he whispered, running his hand down her arm. "I won't tell anybody what just happened. Everything's gonna be fine."_

_Quinn's head seemed to nod itself, like she was somewhere else in thought. Somewhere loud and devoid of focus. _

_"I want to help you. But it'd be breaking all the rules."_

_Quinn continued to nod , her gaze unfocused and reeling with shame. _

_"But..." Puck slowly drew in a large nasal breath and released it, as if he was a soldier gearing up to answer wars call. "I once told you that I'd do whatever I could to help you. So, if this is what you __**need**__," he told her softly, gesturing between them, "then I'm here, and we'll go at your pace. You're in control."_

_Not quite sure of anything, in that moment, all Quinn could do was nod._

Following the day that she'd given Puck her virginity, things seemed to snowball. She hadn't particularly enjoyed what had occurred in that office, that day, and when she'd told him as much, he'd told her that the first time was usually a little awkward for girls, and that she'd probably get a better feel for who she was if they tried again, whenever she was ready, of course.

Quite a while after their first sexual encounter, Quinn allowed Puck to nestle his powerful hips between her pale thighs for the second time. She'd made all of the right noises, in all of the right places, in a pitifully desperate, and at times embarrassing, attempt to squeeze _something _out of what was happening to her - fake it 'til you make it. But she knew. After being with him again, and feeling absolutely nothing when he'd kissed her, and filled her, and told her that she was beautiful, Quinn knew.

Each of his affectionate utterances had left a bruise upon her soul, because there had been no hiding from herself in those moments. She knew. Knew that what she truly yearned for were softly spoken sweet nothings, gentle lips, delicate hands, smooth curves, and subtle yet alluring perfumes that spiraled up from the most supple of cleavage.

She knew. Knew that she couldn't allow Puck to settle on top of her for a third time, because she _knew _who she was.

Even so, she allowed herself to be invaded again, because that was sort of how she'd come to view her encounters with the large tan hands, broad shoulders, and scratchy legs that made up Puck's body. Quinn might have known who she was, but no way had she been about to let it beat her. Not when the shelves in her room were littered with trophies, and her report cards littered with A's. She'd subscribed to the idea that all she had to do was try harder - that, if anything, she deserved the unpleasant sensation of a man thrusting into her, as punishment for failing to fall in line the first two times.

All that it had done was cause her gaze to linger on upwardly ruffled skirts, and smooth long legs that much more.

That was when Quinn stopped scheduling sessions with Puck, and it was only then that the single roses began to appear in her locker, little notes attached to the stems.

_I know that this started because you wanted me to help you figure things out, as a friend. But somewhere along the way, I fell. I really hope you aren't regretting what we did, and that I didn't do anything wrong! That would destroy me!_

_I miss you :(_

That note had been the note responsible for tugging at Quinn's conscience. The note that had guided her back to that light and airy office, where the man who'd risked his job for her had somehow been able to guilt her into a one-sided romance with a heartfelt, "I'm in love with you."

Of course, now, Quinn knew better...

The way that he'd responded after she'd told him that she thought she might be pregnant - looking her up and down as if she was this used and dirty thing, whilst accusing her of sleeping around? Threatening to out her? The ease with which he'd switched on her? It was too big a jump, a completely different person to the guy that she'd trusted with her body and secrets.

The true monster behind the carefully selected words of concern, and the one-million-dollar caramel grin.

When she thought about the fact that she'd lost sleep, fretting over how to tell Puck that she couldn't love him back because she was gay, _without_ hurting his feelings, her nostrils flared. The only reason why he'd claimed to be in love with her, was because he'd panicked when she'd stopped seeking him out, and had wanted to reel her back in, where he could keep a handle on things. When she thought about that, her breathing picked up.

No, Quinn wasn't heartbroken. She was just fucking angry.

Her palms blasted into one another repeatedly, as she watched her fellow Cheerio's work their bodies harder under her command.

"Faster!" she bellowed, the power of it carrying the cry to the far end of the field.

"That's quite the set of lungs there, Miss Fabray. May I interest you in joining Glee Club?"

Knowing that voice, Quinn looked to her left to find that Miss Berry was stood beside her. With all the astute form of the guards that watched over Buckingham Palace, the petite teacher had both hands clasped behind her back, chin held high as she looked out over the panting Cheerio's; her sleek, soft, shoulder-length, brunette mane barely ruffling in the wind.

Quinn wondered how long the neat little woman, who seemed to carry herself as though she was ten feet tall, had been there.

"Santana!" she suddenly called across the field. "Take over for me!"

When the all-too-pleased Latina signaled a salute to her captain, smirked menacingly, and began to work the girls just as hard as Coach Sylvester, Quinn gave her attention back to Miss Berry, taking care not to let her eyes venture to the woman's shapely bare calves. "I don't sing. Or dance," she said rather tersely. "So go and find someone else to recruit into your _colorful _little show choir."

Rachel broke her gaze with the physical torture that was playing out on the field, shooting it at Quinn, who she could've sworn looked regretful of her tone, even if only for a second.

"Quinn -"

"What happened to Miss Fabray?"

Rachel's forehead tipped forward in the slightest nod. One of mature poised acceptance that Quinn was really behaving in such a manner. The blonde's disrespect was usually more subtle. More clever. But not today. "Firstly, you're a cheerleader. You dance during cheer performances. I've seen you. You're good."

Quinn felt a sudden hotness claw up her neck and cheeks. Suddenly disarmed, she had nothing to say. No snarky barbs to get the beautiful woman who was challenging her to leave. Nothing.

"Secondly," Rachel continued, "I'd appreciate it if you did not refer to the Glee Club as my _colorful _little show choir. I will not tolerate such bigotry. Are we understood?"

Quinn slung her arms folded and peered off, chuckling bitterly at the irony. She was a lesbian. She could say, '_colorful_,' if she wanted to.

"Care to share the joke, Miss Fabray? I believe I missed it, like I always do where it pertains to such flagrant homophobia."

Miss Berry's pushing wasn't anything out of the ordinary, for a teacher. But Quinn didn't like it, even if she did deserve it.

She unfolded her arms and took an unconscious step towards the music teacher, standing over her. "The joke," Quinn sneered down at the unruffled stone-faced woman, "is that you're the one who doesn't _understand_. I _can't_ afford to associate myself with your _colorful _little club!"

"And why would that be?" Rachel asked, more curious than combative.

"Do you not _understand _who my parents are?" Quinn hissed, almost brokenly.

At first, Rachel took the comment to be a threat. In the short time that she'd been living in Lima, she'd heard a lot about the Fabray's, learned that Russell Fabray owned most of the businesses in town, and that he had wells of power at his fingertips. But the more that she assessed Quinn's rebuttal, the more it became apparent that there had been something else there. Something about the pained whine in Quinn's voice that had pleaded with her to get it - to understand…

And somehow, just like that, Rachel did.

Feeling the air change, Quinn tensed. Watching the penny drop in those luxurious, softening, dark eyes was too much. Far too much, and when Rachel parted her lips to offer words, the blonde quickly rushed out, "don't say anything."

But in the gentlest of fashions, Miss Berry spoke her name anyway.

"No!" Quinn spat. "I-I'm not talking about this!"

Rachel reached out for the shaken teenager's wrist, only to find that she was grasping at air particles. "Quinn, I'd just like for you to know that it's nothing to be ashamed of, and that you're more than welcome to talk to me about it in full confidence."

As Quinn span and walked away from Miss Berry, as well as her responsibilities as Cheerio's Captain, she felt a familiar burning in her lower back. It flared out down the back of her upper thighs, and around her lower abdomen, until her panties were damp and hot with monthly shedding.

Sure, she was deeply ashamed of who she was, and dubious of any adult who claimed to want to help. But at least she wasn't pregnant with that slimy asshole's kid.

* * *

It was nearing five-thirty in the evening. All of the students, and most of the faculty, had fled to their freedom. But not Rachel. She had a fish to fry.

After her encounter with Quinn that morning, she was beginning to reassess the idea that something was going on between the young blonde and Mr Puckerman. From then until now, multiple possible scenarios had materialized in her mind. She wasn't sure what she was dealing with. She just knew that she couldn't allow what she'd discovered about the guidance counselor to slide. She couldn't risk it, which was why she was knocking on Principle Figgins' office door, armed with her suspicions and a printed copy of the news report that she'd found online.

* * *

**Wasn't expecting such a response for the last chapter. Thank you. To those of you who said that Quinn was a willing party, where it concerns her situation with Puck, yes she was. But she's angry about being lied to, and so clearly manipulated by someone that she trusted, whilst vulnerable. To the reviewer who asked, yes Santana threw the paper ball. You may find out what that was all about later on ;) **

**Any thoughts? Drop them in a review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"I wanted to bring this to your attention this morning. But you were not available," Rachel explained, folding her warm red pea coat over her forearm as she sat down opposite Principle Figgins, and lapped one leg over the other.

Her words were met with a boxy yet friendly chuckle. "Family emergency," Mr Figgins complained in his thick Indian accent, albeit fondly. "I'm sure you know how it is."

Nodding, Rachel offered up a small smile, because she did know how it was. Family emergencies were the reason why she'd put her life in New York on hold to return to Lima.

But this wasn't about that.

"Mr Puckerman," she stated, as if to draw a succinct line under the previous topic. "My concerns lie with his conduct."

Principle Figgins' thick dark brow crinkled slightly. "Conduct?" he repeated, shrugging off his somewhat lax posture to sit up straighter.

Rachel nodded. "Yes. I recently witnessed a conversation between Quinn Fabray and Mr Puckerman, where both parties appeared to be engaging in some sort of quarrel. I did not hear what was being said, but their body language struck me as rather oddly inappropriate."

"How so?"

"Mr Puckerman appeared shifty, as well as panicked about the fact that I was present. Quinn appeared to be rather short with him, and did not, at all, seem mindful of his position as a McKinley High staff member. The interaction seemed very informal, despite Mr Puckerman's efforts to make me think otherwise, which only served to make me more suspicious." Like a lawyer who was set to present facts to a judge, Rachel carefully unfolded the news report that she'd printed, and slid it across the desk. "Given Mr Puckerman's less than professional approach towards me, as well as several other female faculty members, my suspicions regarding his relationship with Quinn were piqued to the point that I felt it necessary to look into his background. What I discovered did nothing to placate my initial concerns."

When Principle Figgins eased his face into a pair of reading glasses, and regarded the report for all of five seconds before folding it back up again, Rachel cleared her throat firmly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd read the entire report before -"

"Miss Berry. Miss Berry," Principle Figgins interrupted, slinging a weary hand up in the face of what was beginning to feel like an onslaught. He leaned back in his chair, and slid the dismissed report into the inside breast pocket of his blazer. "I'm already aware of this incident. The allegations against Mr Puckerman were dropped by the would-be victim, and fairly quickly. He wasn't convicted, still has his license, and is an excellent guidance counselor to our students."

"With all due respect, Mr Figgins, that does not mean that the allegations were false in nature. That just means that the allegations were dropped. For what reason, none of us can be certain. What are the chances of me suspecting that Mr Puckerman is engaging in indecent conduct with a student here, only to find a report such as the one that currently sits in your blazer pocket?"

As if the day was aging him five years by the second, Principle Figgins sighed. "Has Miss Fabray told you, herself, that something is going on between herself and Mr Puckerman?"

"No, she has not. But surely a reputable teacher's inclinations, along with Mr Puckerman's past, are enough to at least spark an investigation!"

"Have you seen Mr Puckerman behaving in an indecent manner with any of our other students?"

"No. I have not."

"And you expect me to take your tenuous conjecture to the Ohio Department of Education?" Principle Figgins asked, chuckling softly, but in much the same way that he imagined the education officials would. "Excuse my response," he apologized. "But you've little to go on here. You did not see, or hear, Mr Puckerman engaging in any indecent behavior with Miss Fabray. They were talking, and perhaps acting a little strangely. But that could be due to any number of factors, one of which may stem from the rapport that he has with her, as her guidance counselor." The principle clasped his hands atop the desk as if winding down, like the closing segments of a book.

Rachel narrowed her eyes at them.

"Nevertheless, thank you for airing your concerns. I'm going to keep a very close eye on the situation, Miss Berry, and will be making a report to the Ohio Department of Education accordingly."

"Yes well," Rachel began, shooting up from her seat with an air of huffiness that was just tame enough to preserve her respectability, "don't blink, because I won't be. And should I discover anything more, regarding this matter, I will be taking it straight to the police!"

On her curt walk out of the office and into the corridor, her nostrils grew full with a familiar scent - that severe yet dizzyingly sweet aroma of expensive cologne. The cologne that she'd come to associate with Mr Puckerman.

What twirled her petite frame around, on the spot, was something quiet and instinctual - the mysterious sixth sense that always guided her gaze throughout a crowded room, to settle upon the one pair of eyes that were settled upon her.

And sure enough, there stood Mr Puckerman.

His face articulated casual calmness, his eyes dark with something that could be seen but not touched.

Rachel folded her arms around her pea coat, and blinked at him haughtily. Expectantly, because she expected the man who seemed to move without sound to know every word that she'd just spoken to Principle Figgins.

And sure enough...

"You sure you didn't wanna take me up on that offer to come to my place Saturday night?" he asked. "It'd save you the trouble of having to moonlight as a private investigator. You could just, you know…" He shrugged a shoulder, moving in measured steps towards the dangerously perceptive woman. "Ask me whatever you wanted to know. Upfront. Though..." Noah paused, seemingly to watch his left hand tug the right into a chic men's brown leather glove. "Agent Berry does have a ring to it."

"Oh really? How splendid that you think so," Rachel quipped.

"Nothing's going on between me and Quinn – or any of the other students here!" he snarled, all pretense evaporating with the sudden spectacle of his caged white teeth. "And if you think that I'd even _think_ about crossing those boundaries, you're outta your mind!"

"If there's one thing that life has taught me, it's that all sorts of people are capable of all sorts of things."

"And you think I'm capable of -"

"Are you?" Rachel cut in, lifting a powerfully challenging eyebrow. She watched the muscular man struggle to keep his eyes to a low flame, and to his eventual success. But he failed to keep the two dark haunted pools pure.

"What is it that you have against me?" he quietly hissed, instead of the explosion that Rachel was sure his coiling fists were capable of.

She cast her gaze over his face, unable to temper her ability to read between the lines. The fine print. Mostly, it was that that she held against the shifty man – that when she stared at him, her somewhat faded scars fell open to become hot bubbling wounds again. No, she did not have definitive proof that he was taking advantage of Quinn Fabray, or any other student at the school. But she sensed it. She sensed it more deeply than she cared to discuss – had a nose for it. Knew that the man who stood before her was of the same design as the man who'd manipulated her mother into allowing _her _to be... taken advantage of, during her childhood.

With the steady flourishing of those dark memories, Rachel filled with fire. Her jaw wound square and taut. "As of right now, my case may be one of pure conjecture. But know, with every fiber of your being, that if you _have _been abusing your position here, I'm going to find out!"

"Maybe _you _should know that you're more Quinn's type than I am - that what you witnessed in the doorway of the supply room was Quinn freaking out about that, and me trying to calm the situation." Noah watched the short woman's throat bob with her ebbing certainty; he was already applauding himself for the blow that he was about to deliver. The one that he hoped would result in Miss Berry keeping a formal distance from the cheerleader and, as a consequence, the truth. At least until he had a handle on Quinn anyway. "When you first started to teach here, your name came up during one of our sessions. I asked her how she was coming along in your class, and you should've seen it! When I said your name? She could barely look me in the eye anymore - started to blush. From her ears to her toes. So maybe you're the one who needs to be careful of your conduct around Quinn, before you find yourself on the wrong side of some spiteful allegations, all because you don't return her feelings. Just something for you to consider whilst you enjoy your evening, Miss Berry. Have a good one."

As Mr Puckerman stepped past her and headed off down the hallway, his lips puckering around a casual whistle, Rachel's eyelids blinked themselves few and far between. She found herself gazing off into all of her past interactions with the Cheerio's Captain, hoping to hold them up next to the version of reality that Mr Puckerman had just painted.

Whilst Quinn seemed to greet most other faculty members with surface friendliness, she had never acted with an ounce of it around the new music teacher. In fact, the teenager seemed to make it a point to sit at her desk, quiet and superior, as if always on the lookout for an opportunity to make Rachel look stupid - not that she ever really succeeded. But the tension was there. Typically, that wasn't how a teenager with a crush would behave. But then... if the young blonde's earlier display of self-loathing was any indication, Rachel supposed that it made sense for Quinn to want to tear down the object of her forbidden affection - to need to prove to herself that she could bring a knife down on her sapphic feelings at will. To need to convince herself that she wasn't what she so desperately was.

To think that the teenager was in such a dark place was deeply concerning…

It was the sudden sound of the janitor wheeling by an old noisy supply cart that brought Rachel back.

He sent her a smile that was fashioned like the apology he felt he owed on behalf of the ruckus. "Didn't mean to startle you. But eh - noise can't be any worse than some of the singin' in your Glee Club, right?" he jested, hefting out a hearty laugh.

She granted him a subdued but forgiving smile, and asked, "would you happen to know whether or not Miss Pillsbury is still on the premises?"

"Yeah. I walked by the main office just minutes ago. She's still here, filing files like always. Why?" the man chuckled. "Need to make a cross phone call to some poor soul's parents?"

"Something like that."

* * *

"Whilst you're over there, get the blinds," Russell said, relaxing back into the couch whilst propping his feet up on the foot stool.

With a gentle wrist, Judy twisted the thin transparent lever that descended down from the upper windowsill, watching as the slats in the blinds edged down until she could no longer admire her picturesque driveway. "One of Quinn's teachers just called," she said, flicking on the lamp. "She's on her way here now. Wants to talk to us about Quinn joining some club at school?"

Expelling a huff, Russell muted the TV. "Quinn?" he yelled, angling his neck back towards the staircase.

Judy thrust both hands out, palms turned at the floor, like the motion would temper the levels of aggression that were wafting from her husband. "Calm down, Russell. It didn't seem like our Quinnie was in any sort of trouble."

"Why else would a teacher be on their way over here at this time in the evening?"

It may have been a question. But experience had taught Judy that she was in no way permitted to respond.

Upstairs, Santana and Brittany looked at one another, and then at Quinn, who was sat at her computer in a seeming daze.

"Hey! Earth to Fabgay," the Latina poked.

"What?"

"Alright, something's definitely up with you," Santana said, chopping the knife of her hand at her throat like an unsatisfied director who was calling for the take to be cut. She sat up on Quinn's bed and curled her feet beneath herself, her shoulder brushing into Brittany's with quiet tenderness. "First you just take off and leave me in charge of the Cheerios this morning - wouldn't tell us what Berry wanted with you, and now you're answering to Fabgay? What gives?"

"Yeah Quinn. What's wrong? Did you dye your hair and have it come out green again, and that's why you're sad?" Brittany wondered aloud, to which both Quinn and Santana frowned.

"B, Q's hair's not green though. It's blonde."

"Good point, baby." Brittany snuggled in close to the olive-skinned Latina and brushed her lips against her cheek. "You're so smart."

Santana drew her fingertip along the tall blue-eyed blonde's palm. Her eyes quieted to two soft chocolate circles, sweet and gooey as she insisted, "so are you, Britt-Britt, which is why we had to teach Wilde a lesson for saying that you weren't."

One might have thought that somebody had passed a particularly lethal fart – the way that disdain befell Brittany's face at the mention of the mean girl's surname.

Quinn shot her two friends a glare. "What'd I tell you guys about being all over each other when you're here? Cut it out, or get out!"

Before Santana could cash in on her chance to cut a bitch, Quinn's bedroom door eased open.

"Yo, what up Judy?" Brittany enthused, throwing up her fingers like she was in a gang.

As if the pale suspended hand was a loaded gun that needed to be detained, Santana lowered it to the bed sheets, all whilst sniggering off into her own shoulder, because the horror and affront that had etched itself into Mrs Fabray's features more than warranted abdominals that jumped mirthfully.

Judy regarded the peculiar blonde for a moment, offering her the most pained mechanical smile, before looking to her daughter, who instantly sighed.

"They're my friends," Quinn asserted, unapologetic.

"I didn't say anything," Judy protested, projecting a portrait of innocence. She ran a hand through her wiry blonde hair, dusted off the fluff that clung to her cardigan, and stood up just that little bit straighter. "One of your teachers is downstairs. She wants to talk to your father and I about something. We think you should be there too. So your… _friends_," she said, almost as if the word was a hot knife through her gut, "are going to have to leave."

Quinn's eyelids flickered as she felt her senses shroud and her forehead grow clammy. "W-Which teacher?"

"Does it matter?"

Oh it mattered, because if this was it – the night that her intolerant parents were to find out about her dirty little secret – Quinn needed to be able to prepare for the shit storm that was coming her way.

* * *

**No Faberry in this chapter. But there will be in the next ;) To the first person to review the previous chapter, I wasn't hiding key info for suspense purposes. It's more that it was clear that I needed to elaborate after the response to chapter one, which was why you guys got more of the backstory :) Also, I genuinely appreciate you giving me constructive tips. The fact that you offered up the span/spun correction suggests to me that you see potential in my work, and would like to assist me in fine-tuning it, which is flattering. But I will say that the, 'please get that right!' felt a little rude.**


	4. Chapter 4

With Brittany and Santana making their way up the street, the front door to the Fabray household thrummed shut. Quinn clutched its handle, drawing a deep breath.

After a moment or two, she slowly let it out, before heading back into the lounge, where both her parents and Miss Berry were inevitably sat waiting for her.

"Where are your manners, Quinnie?" Judy started, as soon as her daughter reappeared. "Fetch Mrs Berry a glass of water, and a slice of homemade cherry pie."

"Thank you, Mrs Fabray. But that won't be necessary," Rachel spoke up, before Quinn could slink off into the kitchen without cause to. She drew her eyes along the cheerleader's stoic side profile, looking for Quinn to acknowledge her presence, since she still had yet to.

"It's no trouble, Mrs Berry - honestly," Judy insisted, to which Russell rolled his eyes.

"Quit fussing over pie, and let the woman say what she came here to say," he scolded, pointing to the vacant spot on the couch beside him.

Judy was seated within a matter of seconds.

It took Rachel a moment to realize that they were still talking about the homemade cherry pie. She allowed her gaze to float away from Quinn and back to Mrs Fabray, granting her a warm smile. "Whilst I'm sure that your pie is delightful, I can assure you; I'm fine - and it's _Miss _Berry."

That last little tidbit of information seemed to slow Judy in her tracks, as quiet judgement curled her upper lip up slightly. She bounced her palm against her hairdo snootily. "It's just, well you're so well-kept. I just... assumed," she trailed off.

Rachel flexed her hand before the other woman. "No wedding ring as of yet. I keep myself looking well. Not that there's anything wrong with the alternative," she clarified, glancing between Mr and Mrs Fabray as if to signify what the alternative was, "but I'm not nearly traditional enough to allow a man to keep me. I too much enjoy my independence."

If the circumstances had been different – and the hot teacher who may've been about to spill her secret was not sat dillydallying with her strict overly religious parents – Quinn might have chuckled at the way that Rachel's polite rebuttal had shut her mother down. But the circumstances were not different. Beneath her stony exterior, her heart was in uproar within the confines of her chest, her mouth dry; muscles tense under anxious reign.

If this was going to happen, Quinn just wanted it over and done with, which was why she rolled her eyes at the scene before her, and impatiently snapped, "why are you here?" in her music teacher's direction.

"Now, Quinnie, to each their own; I know she's not traditional like us. But you mustn't be rude. Come sit down, and stop loitering by the banister," Judy said, summoning her daughter over.

"Do as your mother says!" Russell cosigned, much more firm in his tone than his wife had been. He then regarded the guest in his home and urged, "can we get this show on the road? Game's set to start in an hour."

Rachel looked upon the Fabray family, absorbing their way, and for the first time she really started to grasp what hell Quinn probably lived, on a daily basis. What was clear was that there was no room for difference, and if by some miracle it managed to seep through, it was met with absolute disapproval – shooed back into the shadows where it was to cower whenever it thought about rearing its head again. Unrelenting expectation seemed to claw up from the very carpet fibers, and it was so thick that Rachel honestly did not know how Quinn had made it seventeen years in such an overbearing environment.

Throw in the fact that the young blonde was a lesbian and…

"To answer your question, Quinn, I'm just here to talk about the Glee Club," Rachel explained, voice gentle with new-found understanding. "That's all," she promised, her eyes deep and compassionate.

The visibly tense teenager parked herself onto the armchair across the room, and granted her the eye contact that she'd been looking for since the moment that she'd entered the Fabray home.

"Then talk about Glee Club," Quinn murmured. Her spine remained erect, as if she needed to be ready, just in case.

Rachel held her stony autumnal gaze for just a moment longer, in one final effort to convey her allegiance, before she turned to Mr and Mrs Fabray. "Firstly, I'd like to start off by saying that your daughter is skilled in many areas. She performs well academically, is athletic, and seems to be very capable in social arenas. Gifted – that's how I'd describe Quinn, which is why I was shocked to learn that – on top of that – she also has musical talent."

"Musical talent," Russell repeated, almost scoffing it out.

But Rachel did not falter. She nodded once, and emphatically. "Yes. I teach music theory, as well as the practical side of music. Last week, during one of our more practical lessons, Quinn blew me away with how quickly she was able to grasp the concept of playing the piano."

Judy's chest puffed pridefully, along with her husband's, because being able to brag to people about their piano-playing daughter was something that was bound grant them more prestige amongst peers.

Russell grinned, winking at his daughter. "That's our Quinn."

"What can I say?" Quinn quipped dryly, her face not even beginning to smile.

"Yes… well, not only that, but her involvement with the Cheerio's has shown me that she can also dance," Rachel continued. "I say all of that to say that I think Quinn would be a glorious asset to McKinley High's Glee Club. Now, she already knows this, because I recently asked her if she'd be interested in joining, and my proposal was declined. I would have left it at that, but I sensed that she declined because she was concerned about how you would react to her signing up for yet another extra-curricular activity, and how that might affect her performance elsewhere."

Quinn might have scoffed at the lies that were spewing from Miss Berry's mouth. But, at this point, she was just grateful that the sofa cushions were not flying around the room as a result of her parents attempting to cast the gay demon out of her. So she just sat, and she listened to the gorgeous teacher's lips move, doing everything within her power to keep her sight away from those smooth, tan, bare calves.

"So I just thought that I'd drop by, tell you about how your daughter would benefit from joining Glee Club, and address any concerns that you may have. If you're not happy, or if Quinn still isn't interested, then so be it."

"What are the benefits?" Judy asked, enthusiasm pouring from her.

Quinn found that she was just as curious as her mother, though the snark in her throat did not reflect that: "Yeah, what _are_ the benefits?"

"Well," Rachel began, slipping a sheet of paper from her coat pocket and passing it along to Russell, "as you will see demonstrated in those statistics, students who partake in drama and music-based activities perform considerably better in core subjects. Many parents perceive creative undertakings to be a waste of time, but drama and music-based activities have also been shown to combat the performance stress that comes with exams. Not only that, but colleges look at how well-adjusted and varied applicants are. They're no longer just looking at standard skills. They want a diverse array of students – students who've shown themselves to be capable of working closely with people who come from different backgrounds, which the Glee Club prides itself upon. Having the Glee Club on her college application will look fantastic, especially alongside all of Quinn's other achievements. No college will be able to turn her away."

The mention of college tugged at something within the Cheerio's Captain. All of her life, all she'd ever wanted was to make it out of Lima, Ohio, away from all those that she'd ever known so that she could live her life. The way that _she_ wanted to. No impossible expectations. No Fabray name to uphold. No overly harsh judgements. College, in her mind, had always been her ticket to liberation.

Her spine relaxed somewhat, taking the mold of the plush armchair.

When both Mr and Mrs Fabray had finished looking over the statistical sheet, Russell handed it back to the verbose teacher. "This club's got our seal of approval," he said, smirking smugly as though he was proud that such an opportunity had sought out his offspring.

Judy smiled in concurrence, before looking to her daughter. "Quinn?"

"I'll think about it."

Rachel smiled, nodding in digestion of the verdict. "Very well." She folded the statistical sheet back up, slipped it into her coat pocket, and stood up. "I'll get going so that you may all get on with your evening. Thank you for your time."

"No, no. On behalf of my husband and I, thank _you_ for coming by," Judy chirped. "Quinn, be a doll and see Miss Berry to the door would you?"

Quinn was up and leading the short woman to the door quicker than her father could unmute the TV...

Now stood on her doorstep with Miss Berry, Quinn couldn't help but be greedy. She still had a roof over her head, her parents thought that she was the shit, and she was getting to take in one of the most gorgeous women that she'd ever seen, up-close. Indeed, her eyes were greedy. They snatched at the details of Miss Berry's face – the little things, like the poetic nature of those deep brown bottomless pools.

"I hope that I didn't overstep any boundaries with my visit. You did not seem most impressed when I arrived," Rachel said, sensing that her student had gone somewhere else.

Quinn blinked herself back into the moment, clearing her throat. Only when she trusted her voice did she respond. "Are you kidding me? Such a glowing review should keep the 'rents off of my back for a while, so thanks. But…" She smirked, very subtle. "What if I still don't want to join your club?"

A chuckle fluttered up from Rachel's chest, and Quinn frowned at the sensation in her stomach.

"That's perfectly up to you. I'm not going to force you to join if you don't want to."

When the evening air grew still with their growing silence, Quinn glanced off into the neighbor's well-manicured bushes. She ducked her head slightly, thumbing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

Far from intimidated by the quiet, Rachel took the time to study her. This was the first time that she felt she was really getting to see the girl behind the superiority. The girl behind the Cheerio's uniform. And as suspected, she was just as insecure and fallible as every other teenager in the world. If not more so, given the upbringing that she'd most likely had.

"Can I just say," Rachel began, shattering the silence, "that you should attend a Glee Club gathering at least once. Just to see if you enjoy it, though you inevitably will. They don't call it the Glee Club for nothing." She winked, slipped her hands into her coat pockets, and made like she was getting ready to walk the short distance to her car.

But Quinn wasn't satisfied. "Rachel, why did you do this – show up here like… this?"

Rachel ceased her gate to her vehicle and turned to face the cheerleader once more. Something about the young blonde saying her name implored honesty beyond the formal pretense of student and teacher. Rachel felt it – her duty to be honest.

So she was.

"Because I wanted to give you the option. I wanted to make it so that if you were to join the Glee Club, and your parents were to discover just how _colorful_ some of our members are, they would forgive your fraternizing in favor of knowing that your reasons for participating were purely strategic. I just wanted you to have the option, Quinn. Now you do. Now you can afford to join if you so wish. That's why. And if you do, in fact, decide to join, I think that it may see the two of us begin to establish a relationship to where you feel you can talk to me. About anything." Rachel paused to allow that point exclamation. "Those two things," she then added, holding up two fingers, "were my motivations."

It didn't really hit Quinn – how insincere Puck was all the time – until that moment, because Rachel was what true honestly felt like, and Puck had never so much as come close to resembling it.

She bit her bottom lip, only letting it go to say, "thank you, Rachel."

Twice now, Quinn had called her by name. The music teacher did not know how the girl had come to learn it. But she knew to let the issue rest, for the peace of the moment. "The Glee Club assembles on a Wednesday and a Friday, after school. I take Wednesday's gatherings, and Mr Schuester takes Friday's. If you want to thank me, you should show up sometime. Enjoy your evening."

As Quinn watched the neat little woman enter her car, she couldn't help but feel that she was in all kinds of trouble – that if she hadn't been able to keep her inclinations under control before, then she certainly had no chance now.

* * *

**So this chapter's even shorter than the last one :( Apologies to Toodoloo especially for that. But I wanted to get something out, before I go away tomorrow. To the guest reviewer who I addressed in the previous chapter, I'll just say that what is basic to some isn't always basic to others, otherwise life would not be filled with so many discrepancies. Though the correction was greatly appreciated, the rudeness was not necessary. That's all.**

**Lots of love to everyone who commented on the last chapter! Thank you! Most of you want more insight into Rachel. Glad we're on the same page :)**

**Any thoughts? Drop them in a review :)**


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